Clarice wrinkles her brow, scanning the papers, turning them over to read the backsides. Eventually, she sighs and hands them back. “This is the reward you gained from a hidden trial within the trial?”

I hand the papers away to Jess, who looks anxious to read them with her own eyes. “One of the things,” I say. I wave my new staff vaguely, enjoying the way it seems to ring in the air. My other is strapped to my back with leftover twine. Given that my disenchant ability for some reason creates paper and twine along with its activation, I have quite the stockpile. “An incredible reward. It might even be worth all the risk I took in order to obtain it.”

“Was risk while you were alone an intelligent thing to do?” Jor’Mari asks.

“I would say so,” I tell him, not allowing the man’s clear sarcasm to get to me.

“What do the papers say?” Jasper asks, trying to look over Jess’ shoulder to read, but the woman twists to always keep them out of his view.

“They detail the final challenge,” Jess says. She growls at the man, getting him to back away before she has to turn herself into even more ridiculous poses to keep the paper away from his prying eyes. “Some sort of race toward a final prize.”

“Fighting against at least three other teams as we do so,” Clarice adds. “Apparently, at the apex of this maze of monster rooms, there is a waiting stage for the final challenge. Once four teams are in separate waiting rooms, the doors will open, and we will each race to ascend to the top of the tower and claim the final prize.”

“Not too bad,” Jor’Mari says, thoroughly interested in the papers. “Our group has some members with speed as an asset.”

Jess turns a sheet around, showing it off to the group. On it, written in lush black lines, is a diagram of the final arena. It appears as if the final stage is a room a third of the height of the tower, three great ramps built into the side, leading in a spiral toward a platform at the top. A hundred feet of open air connects the top and bottom of the chamber, a deadly fall for anyone unlucky enough to slip from the ramps lining the circular walls.

“Clarice neglected mentioning that the final prize will be guarded by a rank three magician from the Willian Guild. A magician who will not open the final doors to the tower until someone is able to claim the prize from them,” I say.

That gets Jor’Mari’s attention. “Truly? They will pit a band of rank one and early rank two magicians against a rank three.” He blows out a breath, idly scratching the white stubble that has begun to grow on his chin. I’ve never seen an elf with facial hair before, and while he might not be a full-blooded one, the scratchy patch of hair certainly works for him.

“What are our odds of overpowering and opponent like that?” I ask. I have never seen what a rank three magician is capable of, and I hardly understand what a rank two one can do for that matter.

“None,” he replies off-handedly. “It is really impossible to say. As you ascend the ranks, the jump in power from the bottom to the top continues to widen as well. A few years is standard for someone reaching the second rank, and if they push for going further, a decade is customary for reaching the third rank. Those capable of making it to the fourth rank are shockingly rare, out of a thousand rank three magicians, you might only see two or three reach rank four within a given century. That means that the difference between a newly ascendant rank three and one pushing the boundaries of rank four can be a difference of a hundred years’ worth of knowledge, experience, and power.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes to land on me. “See what we need to do to match just the middle nobility.”

“So, no chance of winning in a fight,” Jess confirms, handing me back the papers.

I pass them off to Jasper before he chews his lip off in impatience. Galea can show me exact replicas of the information whenever I need.

“We cannot win,” Clarice confirms. “Rank three magicians are capable of killing rank three monsters after all. If you think that we could do as much, you are dreaming.”

I have to admit, I may have thought once or twice about trying. I have fought plenty of rank two monsters by now, would it be so impossible to think that a rank three one would be entirely beyond us if we all worked together? Then, I remember Arabella’s story of when she first met my brother, of how she and her own team of powerful magicians had been completely helpless at the time. If a rank three magician can overpower such a creature, no, I don’t really see how we could defeat them.

“We have an advantage in knowing this information,” I say, turning back to the focus. “If the guild decides to not inform everyone about how the next trial will end, then that is a serious advantage.”

“Do you really think that the guild will keep that information hidden?” Clarice asks.

“Would you put it past them?”

She becomes thoughtful, tucking her thumb into her chin. “I could see that possible happening. Any idea what this final prize will be?”

“One of these I imagine,” I reply, pulling the soul cage from my inventory.

As the ball of gold and black metal catches the light emanating off of the pale walls, silence falls over our group. At a glance, everyone in the chamber knows exactly what it is that I am holding. A tension, the feeling I used to get sometimes walking home alone from the miller’s house at night falls over me.

“Is that what I think it is?” Jess asks.

“A soul cage.” Samielle leaves the wall where he has been leaning for the conversation, peering at the device with evident lust.

“This was the third prize that I secured,” I say. Then, with a flick of the wrist, I toss the ball away.

Jor’Mari’s eyes widen as he steps back, almost fumbling the soul cage as he catches it, looking up to me clearly confused. “You seem to have dropped it.”

“No, I am giving it to you.”

The man opens his mouth to say something, fumbles for words, and clears his throat instead. “Giving this, to me? You understand how valuable this is. Anyone can see that this is not a simple soul cage made out of silver or brass, the value of this is…”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Is nothing to me right now,” I say, dismissing the incredibly valuable item as if it wasn’t like tearing off a finger to give it away. “I cannot use it now and you can. That is all that I care about. We will reach one of these waiting rooms and rest ourselves so that we are fully refreshed when the final challenge begins. In that challenge, we will find Kendon and Coriander. I don’t care about being the one that wins the tower, I care about hurting those two. You making it over the line to rank two will help us do that.”

The other four keep quiet, but I can see clear discomfort at my words out of the side of my eye. All my attention is focused upon Jor’Mari. The man works his jaw, looking from the soul cage in his hand to me and back. He nods. “They stabbed me in the back over one of these. Now, you are simply giving it to me. How my fortunes have changed.” He tucks the soul cage into a pocket. “I will repay you for this.”

“You can repay me by knocking Kendon down a peg.”

“Oh, I think that I will be able to accomplish that much, but I aim higher.”

“I am happy that the two of you are content with plotting your revenge,” Clarice says, cutting the tension. “I won’t even bring up how the guild has directly said that doing what you two are planning to do will likely end with you both thrown out of the Trial, but I think that you are both forgetting a crucial point. In order for you to make certain that your foes don’t slip from your grasp, you need to make sure that we reach one of these waiting rooms ahead of the final chamber being opened. Sitting around here talking isn’t going to do that.”

“No,” I admit. I pull something else from my inventory window, opening my hand to show off the seven keys I collected during my excursion, each a metal rectangle reflecting a different color. “With these keys, I figure that we can find a way to make it there first.”

Clarice picks one up from my hand, a golden key, turning it over in the light, almost as if she suspects it of not being real. “I have to say, the staff is enviable, the soul cage is something that burns me with jealousy, and the information is useful, but getting this many keys might have been the best thing you brought back.”

I shrug, passing off the rest of the keys to her. “I just had to kill some monsters to get them.”

“Well, that is unexpected.”

Charlene Devardem

Human(Level 38)(Rank 1)

Emperor Conflux

Attributes

Vitality: 53(65)

Strength: 42(54)

Magic: 362(541)

Defense: 51(63)

Magic Defense: 46

Speed: 213(298)

Recovery: 401(540)

Perception: 43

Presence: 0

Healing Points: 650

Mana: 5414

Stamina: 2346

THRESHOLD REACHED! 600 RECOVERY!!

Recovery(2nd Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points are even further strengthened, allowing you to recover from even mortal wounds given enough time. Sleep has become a thing no longer required to keep your body fit or your mind focused.

Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the ability of your body to regenerate organ tissue has significantly increased and the speed at which you heal has become terrifying.

The plush couch I lay on is made of a velvet that seems to cradle every part of me as I stare up at the two windows, the first things I see since going to sleep. Overhead, a crystal chandelier sprinkles light down into the room of plush furniture, myriad of refreshments, and pink stone walls. Long curved sofas line the two walls, the other two given over to the door we entered from and the wide outline of the one we will be exiting through, chalk on stone. My drifting hand grazes the cap of a ceramic bottle, the weak wine inside the only thing I have had to drink that wasn’t water for weeks. They have odd alcohol here, so weak I could barely get a warm buzz to nap to after drinking half the bottle. No one else seemed to have as much of an issue, lightweights.

Galea tells me that five hours have passed since we arrived, enough time for me to sleep and recover. I am hoping that means we were one of the first to arrive. The other teams, without my disenchanting ability, likely had to waste a horrid amount of time digging through monster corpses to find those keys. Just thinking of having to go through that puts bile in the back of my mouth. Though, given how I dispatch monsters, the search probably wouldn’t have been so difficult.

My attention falls back on the windows.

“It would appear that the second threshold is at six hundred,” I remark to Galea. I read the description over again. Reaching the first threshold while still rank one is something possible for those that truly dedicate themselves to improving in a single area at a rapid pace. From what I understand, strength and speed are the most common as diving into killing monsters with a sword or a sharp stick is the customary approach. Reaching the first threshold in three separate attributes was a true accomplishment, but now I have managed to do something beyond all of my expectations. “Recover from mortal wounds,” I muse in my head to the little dragon that I still am unsure is completely real and not some figment of my imagination. “It says I can regrow organs. Does that include my heart? Does that mean I can grow back my brain?”

“Those are both organs,” Galea confirms. “Congratulations. With how often you suffer injury, I am certain that this newest accomplishment will prove vital for you.”

“I will try to ignore the backhand in the compliment,” I say. I can’t really say that she is wrong, being able to recover from falls over cliffs, poisons, and holes put through my guts has kept me alive so far.

Attribute specialists can be terrifying creatures. Clarice said that the endowed nobility are essentially specialists in all attributes simultaneously. Would that mean that each of them would have crossed the second threshold prior to reaching rank two, or whatever it is their equivalent is? Likely not, I doubt that they have anything that allows me the sheer specialization that Galea and her free points does. Still.

“That is probably enough recovery for a while,” I tell the dragon. “My speed has fallen a bit, assist me in getting it back up to par. Magic is still a ways off from the second threshold, but we will get it there in time.”

“No doubt,” Galea says, nodding.

I dismiss the windows with a thought. Sitting, I find a scene that I’ve grown strangely used to. Samielle naps on the opposite sofa, Jess sitting not a few paces away, cleaning her equipment and Samielle’s with a washrag and bucket. Clarice reads a book that I have loaned her while Jor’Mari fleeces Jasper at a card game he only just started teaching him this morning.

The awkward man makes a call, moving a penny and a half into the pot, prompting a smile to burst across Jor’Mari’s face as he proudly calls Jasper’s apparent bluff. Jasper folds, sighing, leaning in his chair as he starts shuffling the next round, leaving Jor’Mari to scoop the money in his hands and start stacking it in discrete piles on his side of the table. Funny thing is, from where I lay on the sofa behind him, I saw his hand, a winning one by all accounts. As Jasper starts dealing the next hand, a fraction of a smile tickles the sides of his lips.

I stare back to the ceiling of veined, pink stone, the light of the chandelier slowly blurring everything overhead. Something pops in my shoulder, and I sigh, contented for the moment, right hand slack on my forehead while the other continues to dance fingers around the rim of that jug. I listen to the dull scrape and occasional squeak of Jess’ rag against steel, a loud man’s sober boasting, a quite man’s nodding approval and thrice veiled sarcasm, the quite rustle of page against page, and the smooth inhale exhale of a man too large to keep on beautiful wing from drooping to the floor and spilling a half-filled glass over a carpet that likely costs more than my home is worth.

That slow in and out, a base so low and even, I realize my own breath moves in time. Far, far away I hear an aspiring would-be hero bickering with his best friend over what we’ll cook tonight, the two men growing so angry with one another you might think they would start knocking teeth out. Then, anger would vanish–always did–and they turn to me, ask me my opinion, and go with that as if that wasn’t their plan all along.

A tear slips from my eye, slowly rolls tickling over my cheek, falling and vanishing somewhere in my unkempt mane. Its trail lingers, the air kissing it cold. Not so bad, not bad at all.